Gone So Long
by Need2Scream
Summary: "There were prettier mechs on campus, but Wheeljack couldn't have said who they were. The quiet reserve and steel will that he'd glimpsed during their conversation was a siren song to his curiosity." Two-shot, Ratchet/Wheeljack
1. Chapter 1

Wheeljack looked up from his pile of datpads when the unfamiliar sound of footsteps echoed through the massive, empty library. The campus library never closed, but still a couple joors before the bars closed he was usually the only one in the building. Even the janitor was gone. From his fourth floor vantage point he craned his neck to see the entryway better. Heavy steps started climbing the spiral staircase opposite him.

A tall mech with a medical student insignia on his beige colored armor slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor where the medical textbooks were kept. Wheeljack watched his slow progress, curiosity always getting the best of him. The datpad on black hole physics suddenly not as engaging now that he had a new mystery. The mech didn't look particularly spry. The way his head hung he'd probably be in recharge before he found the datpad he needed. Wheeljack had always considered his insomnia a gift and a curse. By the time class rolled around his head was always pounding but there were so many datpads! But he was moving to his new school in the morning, he wanted to read as much as he could in this library before delving into his new school's stash.

The mech reached the second floor but instead of branching off to the medical section he continued climbing. Wheeljack couldn't imagine what a medic student would want on the third floor, it was all environmental sciences and literature. The mech continued climbing to the fourth floor, the science floor and Wheeljack's personal haven. The mech left the stairs and disappeared into the shelves of datpads.

Wheeljack contained himself for an impressive thirty seconds before he was up and creeping around the shelves to see if he could find which section the mech had gone to. He found the mech in the chemistry section and his curiosity would not be settled until he knew exactly what the mech was doing. "Um," Wheeljack said softly hoping he wouldn't startle the other student. Tired indigo optics met his. "What…I mean, can I help you find something? I've read almost all of these." He tried to keep his optics on the other mech's, as was polite, but his optics flicked over him as a whole a couple times. Ahnkmorian. Not often they made it into Iacon's medical school. The lean lines of his face spoke to true Ahnkmorian heritage and not a city dweller. Clamping down on the questions building up inside of him he tried to look helpful.

The other mech looked him over with more thoroughness than Wheeljack had employed. Was that an Ahnkmorian thing or was it just how he met people? Wheeljack had heard Ahnkmorian greetings could be quite intimidating. Even with the mech half in recharge his sharp gaze cut like a scalpel. Wheeljack remained fascinated. "I need to know more about stable bonds in a cold environment," the mech finally said after visually dissecting Wheeljack.

Wheeljack grinned and went around to another shelf. "What kind of cold environment?" he asked. "And which scale are you using for cold?" He drummed his fingers on the shelf for a moment before he found the section he was looking for.

The mech stood next to him scanning the titles with his head tilted to the side to read them better. He had a very long neck. A lot of mechs said Wheeljack had a long neck, well, a long everything. Long arms, long legs, long torso. But he'd always thought himself perfectly proportioned. It wasn't that this mech was ill-proportioned, just that…his neck seemed slender and…graceful in a way. Wheeljack gave him another look over since the mech had been so thorough with him. At first glance he looked a lot like the Iaconians; broad shoulders and chest, long legs and narrow waist. But now that Wheeljack took the—perhaps rude—time to look at him he noted that where Iaconians felt a bit blocky and sharp with their angles this mech was smooth, like the desert wind had smoothed the edges.

"I'm using Escape's Scale in a low nitrous environment with unknown particulate variables," the mech answered snapping Wheeljack back to the reason he was standing next to the mech gawking at him.

The words caught up to him and Wheeljack blinked in surprise. "Escape's Scale?" That didn't start until forty units below Taurus' Scale. The medical student was on the fringe of scientific theory with those parameters. "That's uh, that won't be over here then," Wheeljack said spinning around and weaving through the shelves to where he'd been. The shelves on the theoretical side of the library were a bit dusty, some of the datpads probably needed to be charged before they could be turned on. "Escape!" Wheeljack said to himself. His mind started spiraling out theories for what the apprentice could be working on. "Low nitrous environment," he muttered, optics skipping over the titles as he searched for the few datpads the library had on Escape's work. "You're a medical student, right?" Wheeljack blurted out turning to the student.

"Yes," the mech said, not at all satisfying Wheeljack's curiosity.

Wheeljack pulled out the datpad and tested the power. It flickered to life but a warning message about power popped up. "What are you doing looking at Escape's work, I'm surprised they don't have this downstairs with the science fiction," Wheeljack said handing him the datpad. Personally, he loved Escape. His theory on gravitational and temperature behavior within super massive black holes was one of his favorite reads. But as far as the rest of science went there was a sharp divide between those who gave Escape's theories credence and those who thought he was a raving lunatic.

The medical student stared at him for a long moment. "Infection and bacterial disease is one of the leading causes of death in warm tropical environments like the southern city-states," he said at last. "Medicine is expensive and most of the city-states can't afford medicine or even research to find or make cheaper medicine." Wheeljack nodded. Kalis was one of those city-states, the poorest in Cybertron. He was quite familiar with the deaths the medical student spoke of. The mech looked at the datpad when it beeped at him about the low charge. "Bacteria can survive in a lot of different environments, but it still needs something to survive, it still needs conditions to initiate reproduction." Wheeljack started to pick up on his train of thought and his mind raced ahead.

"You'd kill the host if you got down to even the high part of Escape's scale," he said thinking out loud. "Low nitrous environment alone would be enough to cause distress."

"Not if it's fast enough," the medical student said walking toward the table and charge station where Wheeljack's datpads were spread out.

Wheeljack slid into his chair, black holes forgotten. "A flash freeze would be easier on the host and it would also make it more difficult for the bacteria to adapt," he said, his words spilling out in a blur.

The beige mech nodded once. "My concern is, as you said, the host would be greatly affected. I need to know more about how atoms would react to the temperatures being discussed." Wheeljack nodded. That cold and the bonds at a subatomic level could literally shatter killing the host in seconds. That's what Escape had been studying before he'd gone sailing off into a black hole. Suicide in the most inventive way. Wheeljack wanted almost desperately to know what he discovered in those last moments.

His work forgotten, he asked the mech more questions about his studies. Despite his curt answers initially, he warmed up to his topic as the datpad charged. They volleyed theories back and forth, the medical student surprising well read in some more advanced sciences. As they spoke the unfamiliar feeling of exhaustion crept through Wheeljack and he found it harder and harder to keep his optics open and string words together. They both ended up with their heads on their folded arms staring across the table at each other trying to remember where one's thought ended and where they needed to begin theirs.

Wheeljack woke up with a start like he always did when some novel idea grabbed him in dreams. He could never remember what it was of course. Rubbing his optics he sat up feeling his back crack and pop back into place. The medical student continued recharging, the lean lines of his face relaxed of their worry. There were prettier mechs on campus, but Wheeljack couldn't have said who they were. The quiet reserve and steel will that he'd glimpsed during their conversation was a siren song to his curiosity. How had the mech gotten from the deserts of Ahnkmor—he was certain now that was where the mech originated—to the posh city of Iacon? And though it was awful to think and worse to say, why the frag did he care at all about the mechs and femmes dying in the south? Polyhex, Gygax, and especially Kalis weren't places anyone thought about.

Putting his head down again he churned through the joors of conversation they'd had trying to find even a sliver of answer to his questions. His mind consumed with the mystery of the Ahnkmorian he forgot he was staring until the Ahnkmorian moved.

The Ahnkmorian lifted his head with a low sound, slowly tilting his head back to work out the kinks. Wheeljack's optics slid down his throat to his broad chest. Energon heated his face and he looked away when the other mech rolled his head forward again. Dark, dark optics watched him still shadowed by tiredness but becoming more alive. He picked up one of the datpads and asked, "Do you have class in the morning?" with a casualness that made another flush of energon burn his face.

"Um, no," he said busying himself with neatly stacking his own datpads. His bus to the train station was leaving in a few joors but he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. This moment felt fragile, like one wrong word or move from either of them would shatter it. He didn't want to lose this Ahnkmorian so soon. His lean face had too many sharp angles to be called beautiful but the watchful intensity in his optics made him handsome in a rugged way. Like the jagged peaks and hard stones and sand of his homeland.

Wheeljack flicked his optics up again, shyness and anxiety making it suddenly hard to think. They'd been talking since the moon was high but now he couldn't put two words together. The Ahnkmorian leaned across the table and hesitated just a second. Wheeljack closed the distance and pressed their lips together. He was so warm. A shudder of pleasure ran down his spine. Self-consciousness pulled him back before the kiss was more than chaste.

"I'm in Red dorm," the Ahnkmorian said softly. That was practically across the street. Wheeljack nodded, spark still pounding from just that short kiss. He'd never been so forward anyone before. Although, really, the Ahnkmorian had started it, so he wasn't really being forward. He licked his lips, a nervous habit he was slowly easing away from, and tasted the Ahnkmorian. Pleasure electric and hot pulsing through him he stood up and didn't bother to put the datpads back. He hated it when other mechs did that but right now not even that bit of hypocrisy couldn't fully get through.

Darkness that smelled of mist and green things pulled him a bit out of his single-minded focus. He loved the feeling and smell of the earliest part of the morning. And then the streetlight caught the cream armor of the other mech and the small happiness of smelling fresh air was swept aside by the roiling mess of anxiety and knife sharp desire. Close in height, their long legs crossed the campus in breems. Wheeljack kept just a step behind the Ahnkmorian watching his easy stride. This mech wasn't a city-tamed Ahnkmorian. His palms itched to stroke over those broad shoulders and down his back.

Closing the dorm room door behind him Wheeljack found himself pinned against, a warm mouth on his. His sound of surprise and pleasure was muffled. Warm hands slid over his hips and his own pressed against the other mech's chest feeling warmth seep into his palms.

Armor dropped to the floor and Wheeljack pulled the Ahnkmorian closer until their exoforms were flush together, a thrill going through him at his own boldness. Deepening the kiss the Ahnkmorian pulled him away from the door while Wheeljack tried to remember how to walk. Warm hands stroked over his body, rough from work, and he fleetingly wondered if the Ahnkmorian was trained to use a blade.

The Ahnkmorian pressed him against the wall a hand stroking his hip and the other cupping his face. Wheeljack met his fierce kiss and the rest of their armor clattered to the floor A thigh slid between his legs and rubbed with just enough pressure Wheeljack almost tackled the Ahnkmorian to the berth.

He was on top for only a breathless kiss and then the Ahnkmorian's warm body covered his and the thigh slipped between his legs again to tease him. Groaning, he nipped the Ahnkmorian's lip and then kissed his neck. Inhaling he smelled the earthy scent of the polish he used and the faint lingering scent of the antiseptic soap the medical ward was always swimming in. Arching into his touch, for the first time in his life, Wheeljack stopped thinking and let his body figure out what felt good.

A quiet alarm woke him from a dreamless recharge. Opening one optic he saw an unfamiliar room. Medical datpads lay on the table next to the berth, anatomy diagrams covered the walls with handwritten notations scribbled all over. Behind him he felt a warm body. Strut deep pleasure washed through him. The Ahnkmorian had been…incredible. He started to drift off again wondering if he had the energy to wake his lover when the alarm beeped at him again.

Waking up more he checked the time and stifled a curse. He had a joor to get to the bus stop. Feeling warm arms around his waist he considered staying where he was, missing the bus, missing the train. But what would he do? Iacon University didn't have the classes he needed, didn't have the challenge. Warm breath touched his shoulder when the Ahnkmorian shifted, arms tightening around him. He could find something to do, he was smart enough. Maybe he could be a medical student, too. Shutting his optics he willed his mind to stay focused on one topic. He couldn't stay at Iacon University. He had to get up. He couldn't change his life plans because he met a mech at the library. What if the Ahnkmorian was one of those players that just bedded whoever they could? He flinched at that. He knew just from the few joors they spent talking and…not talking the Ahnkmorian wasn't like those mechs.

Taking a slow breath Wheeljack slid his hands across the Ahnkmorian's strong arms and coaxed them apart. Slipping out of his embrace he was hit by the chill of the room. The Ahnkmorian didn't stir and Wheeljack turned away before he talked himself into staying. Quietly sliding his armor on he looked back once more at the Ahnkmorian's sleeping face. Sharp angles and lean lines, like it had been sculpted by the harsh wind and sand of a land so far away Wheeljack sometimes forgot it existed.

Closing the door softly behind him he hurried from the Red dorm across the campus to his dormitory to grab his bag. His few other belongings he'd moved into his new dorm the septorn before. Campus stayed quiet as he waited for the bus, mist beading on his armor and chilling the exposed parts of his exoform and face. He looked at the blurred outline of Red dorm's roof until the bus came to a stop in front of him. Licking his lips and tasting his Ahnkmorian he got on the bus.

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** A sweet little two-shot I thought of a few months ago. We don't get a lot of "How Wheeljack and Ratchet Met" stories. Thank you for R/R/F/F


	2. Chapter 2

Blaster, giggly from high grade, plopped down next to Wheeljack followed closely by the rest of the "Trouble Trifecta" as Prowl—only sometimes—humorously referred to them: Jazz and the Twins. Jazz didn't look like he was as deep in the high grade as the others, probably at Prowl's behest/warning. "'Jack," Blaster said, trying to school his features into something serious before snickering. Wheeljack gave the younger mech his full attention. Blaster always had such interesting questions when he could hardly remember how to spell his name. "So, we're playin' a game." He giggled again and Sunstreaker rolled his optics but Sideswipe and Jazz laughed with him.

"Hurry up or I'll ask," Sunstreaker said, taking another drink from his glass.

"No, no, no, I do it. I can do it," Blaster said. "So we're playin' a game—"

"That doesn't have anythin' to do with the question," Sunstreaker said with another optic roll. His curiosity was beginning to claw at him. If Blaster didn't get to the point soon he'd comm. Sunstreaker. Blaster's feelings would be hurt if he didn't get to ask the question.

Blaster ignored him, "—And, and what's the best interface you've ever had?" Wheeljack and Blaster stared at each other for several seconds while Wheeljack tried to follow the trail of thought and then make sense of the question. Jazz snickered as they stared at each other and the Twins leaned forward waiting. Whatever he said would be in the gossip mill before the night was over. He was tempted to say Jazz, just to see where that story would go. He had a feeling the saboteur would go right along with it. Wouldn't _that_ put a kink in all the Prowl-Jazz interfacing rumors.

He laughed after a moment and sat back. His thoughts flashed to a long ago memory of an Ahnkmorian with a long neck and hands that had mapped every piece of his body. "Uh, well," he said caught between the memory of his Ahnkmorian and a funny new rumor. He remembered warm breath on his neck and the roll of his Ahnkmorian's hips as his body arched. "Probably, uh, my university orns." The words slipped out and an unfamiliar bout of self-consciousness kept him from really elaborating like he usually did with these inebriated Q&As. That had always been an almost dream-like memory, something that had happened to someone else. Although sometimes when he licked his lips he imagined he could still taste his Ahnkmorian.

"Wasn't that, like, forever ago?" Sideswipe said, optics wide.

Wheeljack snorted. "Certainly feels like it some orns."

"So what happened?" Jazz asked, with genuine curiosity. "What's their name? Anyone we know?" he tacked on with a suggestive optic ridge wiggle. The other three leaned forward with tipsy interest. Blaster giggled again and took another drink.

Wheeljack was pretty sure Jazz would be the only one who would remember the conversation so he dropped his self-consciousness. "I don't know," he said softly, optics drifting to a point on the far wall as he thought about the mech he'd always thought of as His Ahnkmorian. "I, uh, forgot to ask his name."

"No," the Twins said at the same time with bright optics torn between mirth and scandal. " _You_ , you had an anonymous 'facing?" Blaster's mouth hung open as if finally understood quantum physics.

Wheeljack laughed. "I actually never thought of it like that. It was…it didn't feel anonymous, but yeah, I guess it falls under that definition." He wondered, like he sometimes did when he got a little too deep in the high grade, if his Ahnkmorian ever thought about him.

Jazz's interest was unabated and even the other three looked less like they were fishing for gossip and more like they were interested in the story. "So…you met at a party or club?"

Wheeljack's laugh was louder. "We met at the library."

Sideswipe slapped a hand over his optics. "'Jack, you _nerd_." Sunstreaker shook his head slowly like he couldn't believe anyone interesting could be found in a library.

"Of course you did," Blaster said reasonably and then started laughing so hard he couldn't take another sip of his drink. He had to rest his forehead against the table while he laughed.

"We met in the science section. He was a medical student and I helped him find some datpads on theoretical sciences. We talked for…Primus, joors, about what he was working on and what I was working on." He grinned as Blaster laughed hard enough he hiccupped. Even Jazz leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet a little. The Twins looked like they were in pain. "And I walked with him back to his dorm and…yeah."

"Wait," Sideswipe said, stopping halfway from melting under the table in mortification. "You talked to this mech for _joors_ and you didn't get his name?"

Wheeljack winced. "It, uh, slipped my mind. He didn't ask for mine either," he added. "Or I would've remembered to ask."

Jazz leaned forward again. "So, how'd that work. You forgot to ask his name, and then, what, never went back to the library? How'd you avoid awkward optic contact in class?"

A phantom ache brushed across Wheeljack's spark but he didn't let it affect his humor. "Well, I transferred to Iacon's Engineering University, um, a few joors later. I didn't…I don't know what I thought, but I didn't wake him up to say goodbye." Wistfulness crept into his voice even though he willed it away. "Sometimes, I wish I would've. He was…special."

"Aw, 'Jack," Blaster said, no longer giggling. He hugged Wheeljack's arm fiercely. "We'll find 'im. What's his name? I mean, what's he look like?" Wheeljack rolled his optics and leaned his head against Blaster's, smiling. The rest of the night passed with the Twins and Blaster trying to coordinate a search party for a mech that even in Wheeljack's mind was more dream than reality.

 **oOo**

Wheeljack tried to focus but his attention wandered over the assembled mechs of the command staff. He was quite curious to know why Hoist hadn't been given the position of CMO. He'd been with the army for vorns and knew the procedures. He'd have to find a subtle way to talk to the mech. If he'd been passed over for someone else that would've hurt his pride something fierce. That didn't seem like something Prowl or Optimus would do. Both mechs were Pit bent to have the absolute best at the forefront of every department. That thought gave him a self-assured flush of pride. So perhaps Hoist had declined?

"Wheeljack," Prowl said gently, amusement flickering in his dark optics. Wheeljack blinked and came back to the meeting. He didn't get embarrassed anymore when his attention wandered. He thought he should, but he'd been caught so many times most everyone assumed as soon as he sat down he stopped paying attention. It wasn't that he stopped paying attention, he didn't want them to think they were uninteresting or he was rude. His thoughts just took him off in…

"What?" he asked, that one sent a flush of embarrassment through him; asking to repeat the question twice. That was rude and couldn't be chalked up to wandering thoughts. Then it was obvious he wasn't really trying to pay attention to what was being said. And Prowl was always so nice about things like this. He really didn't want Prowl to think he was being rude or he didn't want to listen. It was quite interesting how patient Prowl was with his wandering thoughts, too, because the mech really liked efficiency. Everything about him was economy of motion, of words, probably even thought. Meanwhile, Wheeljack was just one tangent after another—"Frag," he said out loud and jerked his head back to _make_ his thoughts stop.

A smile twitched Prowl's mouth, but he was too professional to laugh. Blaster was not and muffled a guffaw. Optimus gave him his Please-Try-Harder look and Wheeljack began working out the chances of the floor spontaneously turning to liquid and sucking him through two decks.

He heard the door open but didn't look up from the table, trying to force his audios to follow the conversation. Yes, their new CMO. Prowl had probably asked him if he had any questions. Did he? Well, too late now. What kind of questions would he have anyway? He knew a bit about medicine from helping build prosthetics but he didn't know anything in depth. Jazz probably had more basic field care knowledge than he did. Although Jazz had to patch himself up quite a bit so that wasn't a fair comparison. Blaster, then. Blaster probably had more—

"And, Wheeljack, our Chief Science Officer," he heard Prowl say almost too late. He looked up from the table, too fast he knew. Blaster looked like he was in pain from trying not to laugh and Ironhide heaved a sigh. His optics met their new CMO's indigo ones.

The rushed greeting on the tip of his glossa fell apart. The lean lines on his face couldn't be called pretty, but the focus and intensity of his dark optics swayed him to handsome. An Ahnkmorian with a long neck and curves on his body that looked like they were sanded by desert winds stared back at him.

Surprise lit his dark optics and—Wheeljack's spark skipped—recognition.

 **oOo**

The room stayed quiet as Wheeljack and the new CMO stared at each other. Jazz watched them with sharp optics trying to make sense of the sudden stillness that had overcome their normally energetic CSO. There was nothing hostile in their postures. It was almost as if shock had frozen their systems. He flicked his optics over to Prowl who was watching Wheeljack with thoughtfulness but not worry.

Then Wheeljack blinked and the stillness was broken. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding like he was caught between reality and dreaming. "I didn't get your name."

The new CMO's optics flickered with amusement that went far deeper than the simple admission of absentmindedness. "Ratchet," he said softly. His voice was rough, like most frontline medics who spent their time yelling over screams and battle.

A smile started to curve the side of Wheeljack's mouth. "Wheeljack," he still didn't sound quite like himself but Jazz was loath to break whatever was happening between the two. Blaster was trying hard not to draw attention to himself as his optics darted back and forth but the _need_ to have more gossip was like a prime directive in the mech. Prowl waited with infinite patience and an interest of his own. He wouldn't be down to the dispensary to hear the gossip though, he'd just wait for Jazz to come find him in his office.

Blaster lost the fight with his self-control. "Do you know each other?" he asked like a water main bursting, the words flooding the room with sudden sound. Wheeljack jumped and seemed to realize he was still in the meeting room surrounded by mechs.

Wheeljack opened his mouth to answer and then closed it with a confused frown crossing his face which usually indicated he was overthinking the question. A smile lifted the corner of Ratchet's mouth. "A little," he said without elaborating. Wheeljack looked away with a hint of color in his face and his fins pulsing bright white once with subdued embarrassment.

 **oOo**

Wheeljack crept into the med bay after he knew the other medics were out. It had taken some pleading and a snippet of blackmail to get Red Alert to tell him when the Ahnkmorian—Ratchet—was alone in the med bay. But now that he was here his mouth was dry and he wasn't entirely certain what he was going to do. He stood in the doorway listening to the soft quiet periodically interrupted by the tinkle of water on metal. Moving to sit on one of the berths he tried to let the quiet soothe him like it sometimes did.

He had no idea what to say. What conversation could they possibly have? He'd been intimate with others over the centicycles, but never like he had been with…Ratchet. His spark kicked a little. None of his other lovers had ever talked with him about science. Maybe that was why they were so few and far. He couldn't not talk about what he loved. He'd tried to curb it but inevitably it always came out and spiraled out into theories that even his peers could hardly keep up with.

"Wheeljack," a soft voice said. His head jerked up and the flutter in his spark became more pronounced. He hoped Ratchet wasn't running a scan. That would be so embarrassing. Still lean like he'd been that night in Iacon, he was heavier with alloy that he carried with the same strength and grace he'd had so many centicycles ago. A lifetime of battle had added scars to his lean face, but those optics that watched him were undiminished. The soft rumble of his voice speaking his name made a shiver run down his back. He should've told the Ahnkmorian—Ratchet—his name. Should have remembered that simple courtesy because hearing that voice whisper his name in the darkness as they moved against each other—

"Sorry," he said breathlessly, realizing he was thinking and staring. "Sorry." Squeezing his optics shut he tried to marshal his thoughts together. He didn't want this to be awkward, but awkward seemed to be core programming for him. "I—uh, I wanted to talk to you," he said opening his eyes when he smelled Ratchet's polish. The smell was familiar to him like he'd woken up in Ratchet's arms every morning instead of one. Ratchet stood in front of him and he had to look up at him since he was sitting. Awkwardness melted away under his indigo optics.

"I missed you," he said knowing that was a strange thing to say to a mech he hadn't even known the name of until that morning. A hand warm and rough as he remembered stroked his jaw. He tilted his head into the touch remembering how those long fingers had caressed his body.

"Where did you go?" he asked, words so soft they didn't carry in the open space. Pain, regret, and embarrassment collided in Wheeljack's spark.

He didn't pull away from Ratchet's touch though. Didn't shy from the warm hand that stroked down his throat to his shoulder. "I…I had a transfer. I moved to the engineering school," he fumbled through the answer, spark pulsing hard in his chest. He could feel more questions pressing against him in Ratchet's silence. "I didn't…I wanted…I was afraid if I told you, you wouldn't…" He couldn't answer because he didn't have an answer. That night that still so much more dream than anything else in his life was the work of a mech who had been so insecure, so afraid. He hadn't been that mech in a long time. He'd been right about the engineering school, it was the challenge he needed to crack out of the self-conscious and timid mech he'd been. The same mech Ratchet's very presence had reduced him to.

He looked up into Ratchet's indigo optics and felt like that timid university student all over again. Reaching up his thumb traced a scar on Ratchet's face. His spark squeezed. How many times had he come close to never knowing his Ahnkmorian's name? How many close calls had the mech had while he charged through enemy fire to find the wounded?

Lifting his head more he slid his hand to the back of Ratchet's neck and tugged him down. The Ahnkmorian came willingly. A warm hand caressed his thigh and Wheeljack put a hand on his hip. Their lips brushed and from the hallway, Ironhide yelled Wheeljack's name. A harsh intake of breath and Wheeljack was looking away, Ratchet's body moving a step out of reach. "What're you doin' in here already?" Ironhide huffed glaring at him from the doorway. "Prime says you've got two joors to get your reports to him before he sics Prowl on ya'."

Wheeljack watched Ratchet as he slid off the berth, which put him within touching distance again but neither one moved to close the gap. "I'll see you…later," he said softly.

Ratchet nodded once. "I hope so," was his soft answer. Need slammed into him, pulsing through his body with every beat of his spark. He made himself walk to the door. He'd walked away from his Ahnkmorian before. He could do it again. This time at least, he knew his name.

He walked down the hall trying to remember what reports Prowl needed but his thoughts kept circling back to Ratchet. He could still feel the warmth of his hand on his thigh. His Ahnkmorian. A smile twitched his lips and slowly spread until he knew he looked ridiculous but he couldn't and didn't want to wipe the smile away.

Warm fingers wrapped around his wrist in a gentle hold, pulling him back. Startled, Wheeljack turned around and Ratchet's mouth covered his. He tasted like he remembered. Felt like he remembered. Wheeljack kissed him back with more skill than he'd had then. Ratchet's other hand slid to the small of his back, holding him close.

His shoulders bumped against the wall. He wasn't aware he'd moved. And then he stopped caring. Ratchet's warm body pressed against his. Long fingers rough from work stroked down his sides sending sparks of warmth through his core. Wheeljack spread his hands on Ratchet's back and stroked down the smooth armor over his spinal relay. His palms itched to feel his warm exoform. Moving one hand to Ratchet's abdere he stroked his fingers down until his thumb brushed across Ratchet's hip. Ratchet broke the kiss, dragging in a ragged breath. Wheeljack's self-confidence returned. Pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, Wheeljack took his hand and tugged him until he followed.

The door to Wheeljack's quarters closed and before he could remember if he'd actually picked up his room Ratchet's warm weight pressed against him. Quick fingers slid armor loose and it dropped to the floor. Wheeljack's palms stroked over the warm exoform of Ratchet's chest. His fingers found scars, so many scars, but he refused to let his mind dwell on what might have been. He kissed Ratchet again, catching his bottom lip between his teeth before he pulled back. He was quite pleased with himself for that sensual action. And then it all fell apart when Ratchet picked him up and he chirped like a sparkling.

Ratchet laid him down on the berth, mischief glinting in his optics. "Warning next time," Wheeljack said sitting up and pulling him down for another kiss. Ratchet laughed against his mouth and the vibrations went straight to his toes.

"So there will be a next time?" Ratchet murmured against his audio while his fingers stroked over Wheeljack's body wringing small gasps and quiet sounds from him. Wheeljack turned his head into him breathing in his scent, tracing his lips along the long lines of his neck.

"I hope so," he whispered. Ratchet's mouth covered his and Wheeljack forgot to think as their bodies found a familiar rhythm.

 **oOo**

Jazz plopped down in the chair across from Prowl. "Yes, Jazz?" the Praxian asked without looking up from his report. He hadn't even flickered an optic when Jazz came down from the ceiling instead of through the door. Jazz crossed his arms and sulked—he did _not_ pout—for almost ten breems until Prowl sighed and said, "Yes, Autobot Saboteur Extraordinaire renowned throughout the galaxies as a scourge against Decepticons, also known as Jazz?"

Sitting up Jazz flashed Prowl his trademark smile. "'Jack and the new mech are getting along _really_ well according to Red Alert."

Prowl flicked the end of a wing, his equivalent of a shrug. "I assumed they would they didn't seem hos—" Prowl's head jerked up when his processor picked up on the inflection, not just the words. He stared at Jazz for five whole seconds before his optics narrowed. "If you helped him put cameras in _anyone's_ quarters—"

Jazz held up his hands in defense. "Nope. Caught 'im in the hall on the way to 'Jack's quarters. I promise the sanctity of your space has not and never will be violated." Prowl settled back and returned to what he was reading.

"Give Ratchet a septorn at least to settle in before you start throwing out blackmail. Prime had to practically beg to get him to take the job," he said.

Jazz gave him a wounded look. "I am the epitome of discretion," he sniffed.

Prowl put the datpad down to look at him.

"What? If I wasn't, every mech on this ship would know you love it when I put my—"

"Jazz!"

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** I dunno how Jazz and Prowl snuck into this, but there they are. For real though, Jazz/Prowl and Ratchet/Wheeljack are my favorite OTPs. That's all for this story anyway! Thank you for reading, reviewing, following, favoriting!


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